


sorry i got cum on the new throw pillows

by guiltyfanfic



Series: robosexual [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Frottage, Gen, Hand & Finger Kink, Kinda nasty, Masturbation, Messy, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, connor being mildly obsessed with his own bodily fluids, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 02:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15620082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyfanfic/pseuds/guiltyfanfic
Summary: Connor discovers what having a dick is like and decides to experiment for the first time.





	sorry i got cum on the new throw pillows

**Author's Note:**

> 800 words of build up just for connor to jerk off using a throw pillow, god damn.

It's an uneventful day as far as days go. He and Hank return from the precinct at a reasonable time, a simple case regarding the assault of an android having been worked on as much as they could. Nothing they could do until tomorrow. They cook dinner together, dancing around each other in the kitchen, dodging Sumo as he gracelessly weaves himself between their legs and under their feet. They chat amicably over dinner, Connor taking advantage of the new humanisation updates he received a couple days prior to be able to eat alongside Hank. It's nice, really nice. Connor files the emotion under contentment when he scans through a couple definitions. That one fits the best.

After dinner, he and Hank move to the couch where Hank decides they should take the time to "broaden Connor's cultural horizons", which means he's going to put on an objectively horrible film from the early 2000s and get a kick out of Connor's reaction to it. Hank's taste in films is... interesting, and they wildly fluctuate in quality. 'Shrek' was okay, 'Bee Movie' was an absolute nightmare, and 'Wall-E' was incredible. Connor has learnt to be wary of the names 'Adam Sandler' and 'Kevin James', both men who died within the last decade but whose impact on the movie industry was clearly vast.

"What about 'A Tale of Two Kitties'," Hank asks, flicking through the ancient collection of laser discs he has stacked on the shelves of the television stand.

"I'm assuming a film based off the novel written by Charles Dickens, highlighting the inequality between the upper and lower classes," Connor muses, hand in Sumo's fur stroking calmly as Hank snickers.

"Something like that," he grins over his shoulder at Connor before turning back to the DVDs. Not that one then.

Hank finally settles on something older than he normally gravitates towards, and a movie which is clearly higher quality than some of the garbage he's has been forcing Connor to watch recently. 'Robocop' is fascinating, mildly offensive considering the current political climate, and better than 'Paul Blart: Mall Cop', which they had watched half of a week prior before Hank - bless his kind soul and his acts of small mercies - turned it off after complaining that it was worse than he remembered it being, but "Not the right kind of bad".

Hank is half asleep against his arm by the end of the film and Connor coaxes him back into full wakefulness with gentle words and a little bit of shaking. Hank presses his forehead into the fabric of Connor's sweater with a groan before looking up at him, brow knitted.

"You should go to bed, Hank. If you fell asleep on the couch, it would undoubtedly be harmful to your back," Connor says as Hank pushes himself upright.

"Mm, your way of calling me old, Connor?" Hank asks as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Connor hums with a soft smile, eyes directed away from Hank as he teases. "I'm merely pointing out the health concerns that stem from old age."

Hank snorts at that, punching Connor in the arm. "You're a piece of shit, y'know that?"

"On the contrary," Connor smirks, "I'm a highly advanced prototype and even post-revolution I am worth a small fortune."

"Yeah, yeah," Hank shakes his hand at Connor dismissively. "Still shit."

Joints crack back into place as Hank stands from the couch and stretches his arms up above his head. He pushes his hair back from his face with one hand before turning around to ruffle Connor's hair with the other. The android feels warmth flood his chest and files it under fondness this time, an emotion he's become somewhat accustomed to after nearly a year of living with Hank.

"G'night, kid. Remember to get some rest. Those updates'll've taken it outta you."

Connor nods, not one to argue. The humanisation updates do make him feel tired (a setting he can turn on and off, much like his temperature controls) but he isn't experiencing overwhelming symptoms of such a state yet.

"Sleep well," Connor says instead, directing a smile up at Hank who returns it before dropping his hand from Connor's hair and exciting the room.

Connor browses the television channels, volume turned low, as Hank moves around to get ready for bed. Eventually Sumo joins him, taking up the spot Connor knows the dog has claimed on the right side of Hank's bed. He hears the muffled sounds of Hank having an argument with his dog, pillows and sheets shuffling around before finally stilling. Silence falls and Connor returns to the television.

This time of night it was unlikely he'd ever find anything worth his full attention on the television. Even a brief glance at the laser disk collection is fruitless - although, for some reason, the idea of watching a shitty early 2000s film outside of movie nights with Hank feels unbelievably wrong. So he turns the television off and leans back into the cushions of the sofa. Forces the artificial muscles in his body to go lax and do what Hank tells him he should do more often: loosen up and try to relax.

Connor eases himself back into the pillows of the couch, laying himself down on his back. A hand finds its way to rest on his stomach and Connor is reminded of those humanisation updates. He’s tested eating and drinking, is feeling mildly tired due to the alterations in his stasis programming. Worming a couple fingers underneath his shirt, running them over the warm skin of his stomach, he becomes aware of an itching heat he hasn’t ever felt before.

Of course, he knows exactly what it is. He’d chosen the features he was to be updated with after all, had ticked all the boxes, craving the humanity he was built to lack. And part of those numerous updates had been fully functioning genitalia.

When he was made he’d been given a blank pubic mount like the majority of androids. Genitals were commonly reserved for androids whose purpose was to have sex in some way: such as those androids at the Eden Club, or companion models. Now, in the wake of Markus and Jericho’s fight to gain their people rights, androids were able to reclaim their own sexuality. Some chose to swap their blank pubic mounds for genitals, some sex workers swapped genitals for the blank slate, other androids were comfortable with their genital situation.

Connor is part of that first group.

Bolstered by a now steady income from his work with the DPD, he’d even gone so far as to blow a hefty chunk of his paycheck on a second set of genitals. Free of charge, androids were entitled to one set as part of the humanisation update. With funds and no idea what his preferences would be, Connor had chosen to have the opportunity to explore both options.

In Hank’s room, in the left side of the wardrobe that the older man had insisted on clearing out for him, are the belongings Connor has accumulated over the course of his deviancy. The vast majority is clothes, but now in the back corner sat a box containing his standard issue blank pubic mount and component #V24671: a vagina. He’s interested to try it, but now he’s wearing #P24683. Can feel it pressed against the seam of his pants, has been aware of it all day on some persistent level, a thought that wouldn’t leave the back of his mind.

Lowering his hand, the other gripped in the fabric of his sweater at his chest (an action that is comforting, performed for a reason Connor can’t explain), he pushes down the waistband of his sweatpants.

His penis falls to the side, resting in the curve where thigh meets pelvis. Two fingers outstretched, Connor runs them across the skin, a cursory touch before he takes himself in hand. Two strokes of his dry palm over his cock has him shuddering with the new sensation. He feels open, like he’s laid bare. There’s an urge to curl into himself that he gives into.

Rolling onto his side, Connor folds himself towards the back of the couch. He gives into another strange urge, grabbing one of the two new throw pillows and clutching it to his chest in a one-armed hug. Connor had picked them out a week ago, fascinated by the feel of the microfiber fabric against the skin of his hands. He’d never felt anything so soft. Since thinking for himself he’d felt an undeniable draw towards items that elicited a sense of warmth and comfort. The cushions were mustard yellow. Even after openly calling them ugly, Hank had emphatically encouraged him to buy them.

The feel of that fabric between grasping fingers is almost as sensual as his own hand on his cock. It’s because it’s dry, he tells himself before turning himself over further, almost onto his stomach. Raises his hand from his cock to his mouth and slides two fingers inside. Analyses the composition of his own skin.

A surprised moan escapes him at the feeling. But with his tongue pressed against the seam between those two damp fingers, he realises this won’t be nearly enough fluid to achieve the sensation he’s aching for. Mouth open, tongue out, Connor lets artificial saliva dribble into his eagerly cupped hand.

All lubricant in his system has the same make up. The lubricant for his mouth is the same as the fluid coating his optical lenses, which is the same as what he’s been informed he will ejaculate, what would make him wet if he had equipped his vagina. It’s all for ease of use: one bottle of product to fill a reservoir that will feed his entire body’s lubrication systems.

Hand full of that lubricant, Connor holds himself up on his elbow and guides it towards his waiting cock. The saliva oozes between his fingers as he grips himself, drips onto the leather of the couch beneath him when he strokes his fist down. A breathy noise leaves him without him allowing it too, face pressed into the throw pillow. Lubricant soaks from his open mouth into the fabric as he moans, voice modulator pitched as quietly as he can force it so as not to wake Hank. The motions of his wet hand have his hips stuttering, trying to thrust forward.

One of his knees slip, his hips falling down to meet the couch, dick rubbing against slick leather in a way that feels filthy. His eyes shut, breath wheezing. It feels better than his hand had.

It’s disgusting, the thought that flashes through his head as his hips thrust in half-formed movements, pushed flush to the couch to get as much slick friction as he possibly can. If the leather feels this good, what would the microfiber feel like? Connor’s dick twitches just from the thought, the sense memory of a touch on another part of his body. Million dollar mind working through a haze trying to imagine what it would feel like, how fucking good it would be.

Why imagine though?

He’s really not thinking when he lifts himself up again and guides that spit soaked pillow down through the gap between himself and the couch. His cock oozes lubricant in anticipation, wetting the fabric further before he’s even lowered his hips.

God, when he does though. His mind goes deliciously blank. All he can do is thrust himself against that damp fabric. One hand under the pillow, pressing it up firmly against his aching cock, chasing the friction with uneven, messy thrusts. Connor presses his other hand to his face, panting with his chin tucked down into his chest. The hot air from his own body is physical evidence of the blurred overheating warnings he’s ignoring in the periphery of his vision. Instinct drives him to press his forehead to the arm of the couch, to wiggle his hand into the tight gap between his face and the leather, to ease two fingers into his wet panting mouth.

A moan escapes him, louder than he knows it should be. The thought of being caught like this has him driving his dick desperately against the pillow. Lubricant leaks from his tip in an almost steady stream as he chases the foreign heat building in the base of his gut.

Teeth dig into his fingers as he spills, hips stuttering as he internalises a sound that was sure to be a cry if he didn’t. Connor’s breath is hot and wet, cooling systems working overtime, moisture condensing on leather. He brings both hands to his face, runs his fingers up through his hair, and gives a quiet moan as he grinds his hips down into the pool of his own cum.

The feeling of slick against his cock is overwhelming, artificial skin sensitive to the point that it verges on pain. He should stop, let his systems cool down, clean up what is sure to be a ridiculous mess.

Instead, he continues to roll his hips into the pillow, drags his cock through the evidence of his own release. His breaths are still hot, his vision blurring with warnings as he thrusts. He knows he’s moaning near constantly, quiet and muffled against a hand pressed to his drooling mouth.

The head of his cock catches in a fold of the fabric of the pillow, an unexpected stimulus that drives him over the edge for a second time, body shivering as he falls. Maybe his biocomponents shake with the force of it. It’s a nice thought.

This time, Connor rolls onto his back. Shoves the wet pillow aside and feels sticky leather clinging to the small of his back where his sweater has ridden up. He’ll have to clean up. He knows this, even compartmentalises the tasks for later (1) Put the pillow in the washing machine, 2) Wipe down the couch, 3) Take a shower). But they can wait for later. For now, Connor relishes these new sensations and allows himself to bask in what humans are likely referring to when they talk about the afterglow.

 

**Author's Note:**

> probably gonna write more for this kinda thing. i have like five other fics planned out around connor being nasty, just gotta be in the mood to write them.


End file.
